‘Tis the last rose of summer,Left blooming alone;All her lovely companionsAre faded and gone;No flower of her kindred,No rosebud is nigh,To reflect back her blushes,Or give sigh for sigh.

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!To pine on the stem;Since the lovely are sleeping,Go, sleep thou with them.Thus kindly I scatter,Thy leaves o’er the bed,Where thy mates of the gardenLie scentless and dead.

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